The Last Homely House East of the Sea
by Waxing Slain
Summary: A series of one-shots that never quite made it in to A Daughter of the Dunedain.
1. The Last Homely House East of the Sea

**Disclaimer:**

Honestly, it's implied at this point that I don't own the rights. I do this out of admiration and respect for the immortal works of J.R.R. Tolkien.

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><p><em>~TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,<em> _And sorry I could not travel both,_ _And be one traveler long I stood,_ _And looked down one as far as I could_ _To where it bent in the undergrowth~_

**Robert Frost. **_The Road Not Taken. _1920.

**The Last Homely House East of the Sea**

The snow begins to fall just as the day begins to dawn and it is cold as she rises to her feet. The tall woman with flowing dark hair shivers a little but she is Aelswyth of the North and she does not think much of the snow. She always thought it was beautiful and when thing froze over the land looked crystal and pristine. Aelswyth pulls her cloak around her and snuffs her fire out. Carefully, she erases all evidence that she had passed this way. _Unremitting caution! _some wise man had told her once though now she cannot recall his name, only his merry, old face. Modig gives a little huff as she mounts him but it is only ritual. He does it every day just as she goes through her own rituals every day. She rides on through the every changing landscape and the snow continues to fall thickly untill it blankets all the ground. She knows that she is being followed though and so she is coiled like a spring and ready to pounce at a moment's notice. Her deft fingers play at the hilt of her father's sword... And then... And then she hears it off to her left. A tiny _snap _that reverberates louder than anything across the frozen, dead landscape. She sees a flash of metal, a blur of leather and she is thrown from her Modig. Falling now she hears Modig as he whinnies and runs, taking an Orc down as he bucks and kicks.

The wind goes out of her as she hit the ground but she is quick and she rolls as she lands. Going to her feet, she unsheathes her father's sword _Narnimwen _and the thin, cold light seems to dance along the ancient blade. She glances at the seven of them, all hulking and furious, and is not dismayed in the slightest. She smiles slightly as they come at her. She fells them down to their last and then he comes at her, scowling and howling. With something akin to a roar, Aelswyth parries and holds the blade of the last Orc at length. She would not fail. She could not fall. She is a Daughter of the Dúnedain. She was born in the North where Eagles fly free and failure is unknown. She lets out another vicious cry before thrusting the thing away from her. Raising her sword, she parries another mighty blow and then hews the head of the Orc from its grimy body. Panting, her breath creates little puffs of white air. With heaving sides, she sheathes her sword and groans with each step.

She looks around with wide, frightened eyes but she does not where she has wandered. The terrain is unfamiliar to her now and she thinks she has gone too far south. _I was not heading south! _she tries to tell herself but she would not listen. She hears another little crackle and crunch of snow under hooves and is relieved to see Modig making his slow, easy way back to her.

"_I knew you would come back,_" she mutters as she take him by the reins and springs into the saddle. She stifles a wail and realizes she has been wounded. She looks to see blood running down her arm and she cannot move her fingers. She looks around again, eyes still half-wild, but she is no longer fearful. Her mind is clear and she is purposeful as she sets Modig at a canter. She is jostled in the saddle but she grits her teeth and presses on as she tries to glean where she wandered in her ranging. She hears the rushing of water not far off and she then she comes to the Road, dusted over by snow. Relief floods her and she lets out a little, pained sigh as she slumps forward. She clings to Modig's mane desperately as he starts forward on the path made old and familiar by Men and Elves alike. As she passes through the shaw, she knows how far south she has come but she feels faint and her head spins and spins around itself. She doesn't know where her Modig is taking her but she has faith in him... despite his yellow streak.

"_Good horse,_" she says faintly as she holds herself in the saddle. "_Good... horse..._"

And with that, she slips from the saddle and tumbles into the snow outside the gates of _Imladris_. Modig stops and huffs again then he whinnies loudly. A blonde, boyish Elf is passing by the gates and he sees Modig standing there, shaking his mane. His sharp eyes fall to the heap of tattered raiment that lies in the snow. His gasp is small but the Man stirs in the snow. He opens the gates and picks the Man up as if she had been made of glass. _So fragile_... he realizes as she shivers against him _Yet so strong. _He feels her heart racing inside her chest as he sets down in the Hall of Healing; no one here in Imladris truly needs it but many of the _Edain_ and their heirs pass this way and it is a precaution only. For once he is grateful for it...

... As she comes to, she hears voices, soft and lyrical. She drifts for a moment, her eyelids still heavy for her to open.

"_She is waking,_"says one of the voices softly.

"_No, I'm not, _"she protests weakly as she rises from her slumber.

"_Just as stubborn as the rest of them," _she hears the rather severe looking one mutter as she props herself up on an elbow.

"_Orcs... There were seven of them... That damned horse ran off on me,_" she explains, the exhaustion easy to hear in her voice.

"_Orcs? Are you sure, _Dúnadan?" asks the severe looking one. There is something familiar in his gray eyes and grim face but she cannot place it.

"_Quite_ _certain. Aye... there were seven of them,_" she insists again.

"_That is as good a number as any for your people,_" says the blonde Elf, a positively impish smile playing at his boyish features.

"Seven stars and Seven stones_... How far have I come?... I mean, where am I_?" she wonders aloud, looking around her.

"_You rest now in Imladris, _pen-neth_(young one_)," says the blonde Elf, his eyes dancing with light and life.

"_I have come too far south! I knew I should not have-,_" And she rises swiftly to her feet but both Elf-lords are rather bent on her staying for they set her back down.

"_You are wounded still," _insists the severe Elf-lord. "_I would not have the wrath of your lord upon me._

"_Nor would I,_" she mutters, thinking of Strider with his grim face and keen eyes.

"_Then you shall stay here in my halls untill such a time that you are fit to ride again._"

"_Th-thank you,_" she stammers, sounding like a little, lost girl before falling back into the pillows and sleeping once more.

When she wakes once more, the blonde Elf is perched by the window, a book held limply in his hand.

"_Are you well, _pen-neth?_" _he asks in his musical voice.

She looks around and slowly remembers where she is. "_I... am as well as I can be."_

_"Well, _pen-neth,_ what are you called then for I can not carry on calling you that._"

"_Aelswyth,_" she says after a moment of scattered thought.

"_Do you remember where you are?_" he questions as he comes to her bedside. There is something in his face that tells Aelswyth he is more than what he seems. He is tall and stand straight and there is a keen wisdom in his eyes as he smiles at her. It is a soft smile and it is not without a certain amount of sadness.

"Imladris," she answers slowly, the name rolling of her tongue easily. "_Now, it is your turn, Elf-lord! What do they call you here in these halls?_"

"_Glorfindel,_" he replies in that musical voice of his.

"Gîl síla erin lû e-govaned 'wîn(_A star shines at the hour of our meeting)_"

Much healing of hand and of heart did Aelswyth of the North receive while she rested in the Halls of Imladris but like all good things her time in those Halls ended. _All good things must come to an end_, she tells herself as she saddles Modig up. He snuffs and seems indignant that she would dare place a halter on him again. She shushes him but it is all in good-natured humor. She hears the soft, musical laughter of Glorfindel.

"_Lalala,_" his laughter sounds like bells and for a moment Aelswyth of the North closes her keen, gray eyes and sighs. She is as content as she will be for a long time. She will miss this place, she realizes, and she wishes she could stay but she knows she cannot.

"_He's the most ungrateful creature I have ever come across,_" she informs Glorfindel crossly as Modig paws at the ground.

"_Hmm... He cannot possibly have picked that trait up from you,_" he quips quickly, his eyes shining like twin stars.

"_I am not ungrateful-_" she begins, treading carefully now.

"_You would have left without saying farewell, _pen-neth_._"

"_Boe i 'waen_(I must go),_" _she murmurs sadly.

"_No gelin a velthin idh raid gîn(_May your paths be green and golden). _My heart shall weep untill next we meet again, _pen-neth, _and these Halls will not know a fairer voice untill you return._" He smiles and laughs again, still trilling like bells. "_Keep your map on hand, _pen-neth._"_

"_Yes, Mother,_" she teases and her voice is light though there is a heaviness to her eyes and her shoulders are slumped. Part of her is hoping he will ask her to stay. And the other... The other part just wants to go home. "_Ú-firo i laiss e-guil dhîn_(May the leaves your life not die)."

He inclines his head to her as springs into the saddle and sets off out of the barn at a gallop. The Gates were opened already and soon she would be heading North though why he did not know. There was nothing left there and he wishes she would have stayed a little while longer. He can still see her, riding hard and fast like some wild, dark shooting star.

_She is a wanderer as all of her people are and she will not be allowed a moment of rest untill the Heir of Isildur claims his throne. _The Elf-lord frowns almost imperceptibly before he returns to his library. _The Lay of Leithian _rests by the window and he picks it up.

"_A night there was when winter died ;then all alone she sang and cried..._" he recites softly and frowns again. _What is waiting for you, _pen-neth? _And who calls you? _

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><p><strong>A.N.:<strong>

I know what I said but I couldn't help myself. This littlt peice has been waiting to see daylight again for awhile now. Anyway, I tried something a little different with my P.o.V. Most folks don't go for present tense but that's the way it spilled out. Hoped you enjoyed it! Review pleas! I'll give you home-made cookies.


	2. The Last of the Numenoreans

~_Even the name of that land perished, and Men spoke thereafter not of Elenna, nor of Andor the Gift that was taken away, nor of Númenórë on the confines of the world; but the exiles on the shores of the sea, if they turned towards the West in the desire of their hearts, spoke of Mar-nu-Falmar that was whelmed in the waves, Akallabêth the Downfallen, Atalantë in the Eldarin tongue~_

_The Silmarillion. _J. R. R. Tolkien

**The Last of the Númenóreans**

Aragorn had managed to disentangle himself from the affairs of State for a few moments of silent contemplation. He sat now beneath the White Tree of Minas Tirith. It was in full bloom as it had been since his coronation and he expected it's life to be as long as his own... if not longer. He rather hoped it would outlast Eldarion's as well. Just now though the boy came sprinting by him and Boromir's youngest was close behind him. Her dark hair swelled around her and he wasn't surprised when he saw Aelswyth carefully and quietly following them. Her face was strained and she looked so tired as she took a seat beside him.

"Boromir told me you had run off to hide." she said, grinning though her keen eyes were ever trained on thier youngest pair of children.

"Oh, I am..." But he couldn't quite say he wasn't trying to hide from Boromir and his damned papers. "You would be trying to hide as well if you were in my shoes." He knew that wasn't true. Aelswyth was nothing if not dutiful. She very likely would not sleep nor eat untill she absolved the Reunited Kingdoms of their issues.

"We both know if I was in your shoes I'd very likely go to an early grave and all from worry." Suddenly her daughter came running up to her, dirt smudged on her pale face, and sat down at her mother's feet.

"We want to hear a story, _Naneth_." Mírien said sweetly as she rested her head on her mother's knee. Eldarion came bounding up next her and sat cross-legged next to her.

"Please, _heryn vell_(beloved lady). You tell the best stories!" He looked so much like Aragorn, pale and grim-face.

"Oh, _Naneth, _I wanna hear the one about _Númenor!_" Amathion cried as he came running through the Court. Baradion was right there behind him and Aragorn was not surprised in the least to see his own girls following behind them.

"You _always_ want to hear the one about _Númenor!" _cried his eldest daughter, a shy, sly smile lighting up her face. Amathion blushed and turned his head away for embarrassment.

"Aye, we want to hear a story." decided Aragorn aloud. He glanced toward Aelswyth, mischief and mirth once more in her eyes. "Don't we?" All the children agreed that they did, in fact, want to hear a story.

"Alright, alright... Are all you children in agreement?" They all nodded again and Aragorn rather humorously was nodding with them. "Well, it's rather short and sad and it could never do _Númenor _the justice it properly deserves...

_Out from the seas it was brought_

_Shining and new and blood-bought_

_Content they were to lie there_

_On their golden isle glowing and fair_

_And yet lands unknown and Undying_

_Ever on the West-ward way were lying._

_Cruel tyrants and bitter enemies most of them became_

_To the First-born whom they had known before they had a name_

_Yet some still remained Faithful as before_

_And were rewarded with blood and gore_

_Burned and scarified to Melkor, evil one of old_

_While _Nimloth _weeped and burned, as it is told_

Ar-Pharazôn _in his vanity and pride_

_Sailed now to seize the Lands in Which the Gods Cried_

_They cried for the World Now Made round_

_Though it was not they who wept for Númenor drowned..._

Remind me , Aragorn, how many ships were there? I am old now and forgetful ..."

"There were Nine Ships." answered Aragorn quietly, his keen gaze trained on Aelswyth. Her eyes were closed as she struggled to remember all of the words. He himself had forgotten most of them as it was a story told to him long ago and only once. He remembered the fire had burned down and Aelswyth's face had been cast in great, leaping shadows. She looked to him now as she had on that night- ever grim, ever stern- though now it was a warm sunlight that cast her face into the shadows there. She moved a straying strand of dark hair away from her face much as she had done that night so long ago... in... in... Where had they been again? _Lothlórien..._ Aye, they had still been in Lothlórien and all sat in rapture around the fire

"_Three time three_," she said in murmur.

"_Three times three the Faithful sailed away_

_As their isle sunk beneath the waves of twilight and day._

Elenna-nórë _is spoken of no more,_

_And _Westernesse _lies now on the world's floor,_

_And _Andor _that was taken away,_

_And _Númenórë _that rested at the edge of night and day._

_When we turn our gazes ever West-ward_

_And the cry of gulls is sadly heard_

_We cry out for _Mar-nu-Falmar

_That went like a shooting star,_

_Burning for a moment so bright and bare_

_And then suddenly gone from us there._

_We weep for _Akallabêth_ the Downfallen and fair_

Atalantë _sunk beneath the waves_

_and now home to a million graves... _As I said, it was short and sad..." Eldarion looked so severe that Aelswyth would have sworn she was staring at Aragorn had it not been for the height difference. Eventually though the children all dispersed and Aragorn and Aelswyth were left sitting next to each other.

"We are The Last of the Númenóreans, you and I." he said finally. With a sigh, he turned away but Aelswyth was smiling as she watched Eldarion and her daughter at their game.

"Not us. It would never be in us to be the Last of Anything. See how tall they are, a_ran vell(_beloved king); they stand tall next to Baradion who is older by ten years at least. See their keen, gray eyes and stern pale faces. No, they are The Last of the Númenóreans and from our lines there shall spring lords, great and noble, and ladies, fair and just."

Just then Boromir came trotting up to them, his smile warm and wide though he did seem to be moving with some difficulty as he often did. If he was troubled by his own age, he did not say and likely would not.

"I have find you finally then." he said to Aragorn, beaming boyishly.

"I had faith that you would eventually!" replied Aragorn, his eyes playful as he rose to his feet.

"Then it was a quest you set me on."

"Aye and you have seen it completed."

Aelswyth could not fight her urge to laugh. Men were so much like boys sometimes. _Some things never change..._ she told herself. She kissed her confused-looking husband softly on his cheek and went on after their children.

"She is one of her moods again." he muttered, a hand to the cheek her lips had just touched. He was scarce sure but he could still feel her lips there.

"Aye, both of us are in one of our grim moods." explained Aragorn softly.

"I do not think I would have it any other way." Boromir replied as he watched Aelswyth as she stood tall and uncompromising in her watch.

"You would not be given the option." his King replied.

"I didn't think so. You have an air to the pair of you and it worries me sometimes."

"Sometimes only?"

"Only sometimes. As I said, an air to the pair of you. Come, my King! We've work to finish before the day is done!"

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><p><strong>A.N.:<strong>

Probably it for awhile. School just started up again and I'm already swamped with homework. :P I can't figure out if I'm excited about it or not.


	3. War Drums

**Disclaimer: Of course, I don't own anything. Silly moose.**

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><p><strong>~Your war drum ain't louder Than this breath~**

Suheir Hammad

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><p><strong>War Drums<strong>

A halt had come to the fighting during the night and now both sides seemed uncertain of what was going to happen next. Now ashes were gently falling from the sky as though they were falling from the clouds. Aelswyth turned her head up slightly and sheilded her keen eyes from the falling particulates. The clouds were heavy and yes, there would be rain but... But this was clearly _not _rain or snow.

"Ashes," she muttered, holding a hand out to let them collect in her open palm. They were still warm on her skin, on her face, in her hair. _Snow_, she thought as the palm of her hand filled up with warm, downy fluff. Despite the heat in the air and the soft stuff in her hand was not snow, she was reminded of the fractured Northern Kingdom. She thought of the snow falling in much the same way as the ashes that now filled the sky. She thought of the trees in _Firith_ as they shed their leaves. She thought of her mother and father as she wove in and out of a forest of old oaks, all of them great and tall and magnificent. Boromir came up to her side as though he were coming out of thin air.

"Come inside," he urged quietly and quickly.

She smiled at him and shook her head, ash falling from her hair.

"It's too dangerous for you to be out here alone," he continued, clearly growing impatient with her. He held out his gauntleted hand and Aelswyth took it.

The ashes, like snow, accumilated and, as she watched the ashes fall, Aelswyth wondered if she would ever see the end of this task Gandalf had set her on. She wasn't sure if she wanted to see the end of it. To the East, she was sure she heard the sound of drums. It was a hectic beat, a beat entirely without rhythm, and it terrified her. _War drums_, she told herself as she looked to the East and saw the East staring back at her with the eyes of the Enemy. The Enemy was prepairing to fight once more and on all sides of her, the men around her seemed to be getting ready for another assault.

"You are worrying again," Boromir said, laughter in his eyes despite their desperate situation.

"I always am," she replied softly with a smile.


End file.
